


Sometimes Words Are Easy

by asrundream



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood, Blood Magic, Chance Meetings, Drunken Kissing, F/F, F/M, Fade Dream(s), Gen, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 03:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3962194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asrundream/pseuds/asrundream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of unrelated one-shots based on pairings and prompts from the Dragon Age Random Pairing & Prompt Generator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Josephine Montilyet & Malcolm Hawke: kisses to the unsuspecting

**Author's Note:**

> I was bored and discovered [the Dragon Age Random Pairing & Prompt Generator](http://www.scattereddelusions.com/avs/DAPrompts.html). Drabbles happened. They have nothing to do with one another, but I'll be posting them as chapters in this story to avoid cluttering things up.
> 
> I found writing like this to be a lot of fun, so I'll probably do more "chapters" in the future! Rating, characters, tags, and so forth will be updated as necessary.

Josephine looked up from her clipboard when she heard the door from the main hall creak open. She waited a moment, and another, but when the door to her office stayed closed, she simply assumed whoever it was had gone to the kitchens. She closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips to her eyelids, wishing she could will away her headache. She tilted her head back and rested it against her chair, hands dropping to her lap. Five minutes of peace. That's all she asked.

A soft brush against her lips made her jump and open her eyes. A tall man was looming above her, smirking.

"Wh- Hawke!?" she spluttered, shocked. But it wasn't Hawke. The man standing by her desk was older, skin tanned nearly as dark as hers, and was clearly not Hawke, despite the resemblance.

"You're not Hawke. Who-"

She was silenced with another sudden kiss.

Her eyes flew open.

Her headache was gone.

There was no one in her office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was weird to write because Malcolm Hawke has been dead for at least 20 years as of Inquisition... :/


	2. f!Lavellan & Iron Bull: under the influence

Lavellan groaned into her tankard, voice raw and head spinning. Bull laughed heartily and clapped her on her shoulder, almost knocking her out of her chair.

"You did good, boss. Six cups. You're going to be feeling that in the morning."

She groaned again, hazily remembering she was expected in the war room bright and early. "Josie's gonna kill me," she tried to say, but only managed to get out "Joshis ga... hrm" before leaning her head against Bull's thick arm.

"You alright?"

Lavellan managed a weak nod and reached up to paw at Bull's arm, giggling.

"Big," she said.

Bull snorted. "All of me's big, boss."

She giggled again, then did something that could've almost been called standing, but was a lot more like jerking forward, knocking a chair over, and falling against the table.

"Easy!" Bull said, grabbing her around the waist. "You drank your body weight in Qunari ale. Let's get you to bed."

The Inquisitor squeaked and grinned as Iron Bull picked her up as though she were a doll. "Mine or... mm, yours," she slurred. Bull's eyes widened slightly.

"Yours. To sleep. Alone."

"Nooo," she whined. "No."

"Yes. You're incredibly drunk, boss."

She lurched forward suddenly, almost causing Bull to drop her, and kissed him on the corner of his mouth.

"Mished," she managed, then laughed breathlessly and passed out.


	3. Garrett Hawke & Varric Tethras: in front of a roaring fireplace

"Hey Varric," Hawke said out of the blue one night. They were drinking in front of the fire in his living room, lamenting the results of their most recent game of Wicked Grace.

"Hm?" Varric looked up from oiling Bianca.

"Do you think we'd ever..."

Varric raised an eyebrow. "Ever what?"

"You know. Us."

"Absolutely not."

Hawke sighed with relief.

"Good. It feels like half of bloody Kirkwall is trying to get in my pants these days."

"That's because half of bloody Kirkwall is trying to get in your pants. Don't worry, Hawke. I'm in the other half."

"Let's keep it that way, shall we?"

"Of that you have my word."


	4. f!Lavellan & Merrill: blood on the snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan and Merrill meet by chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was actually quite happy to get this prompt! It turned into something I had a good time writing. I'm not so good with writing Merrill since I didn't use her much, but eh!
> 
> This takes place between DA2 and DA:I.
> 
> Rough translations for the random Elvish are at the end.

Lavellan wandered away from the camp after they'd settled down for the night. She ignored the other hunters' warnings and reminders of their early start the next day. Something was off; she could sense it, the same way she could smell a storm coming or tell when someone was bluffing at cards. She held her bow in one hand, ready for what she knew she would find somewhere in the dark.

It wasn't long before she could smell a sharp tang on the air, bitter. Blood. She nocked an arrow and lightened her steps, slinking from shadow to shadow and tree to tree.

There, ahead of her - an outline silhouetted against moonlight. The familiar glint of eyes in the dark. She lowered her bow a few inches and stepped forward, revealing herself.

"Aneth ara," she called, wary. The silhouetted figure took a step back, confirming Lavellan's suspicion - the eyes that had glinted in the dark were large and wide, a vallaslin curving around them.

"Oh. Ah. Hello," the other elf said, hastily tucking a dagger into her belt.

"Are you hunting?" Lavellan said, moving closer. "I smelled blood."

"I. No," the girl said, taking another step away. "Please don't come any closer."

Lavellan loosened her grip on the bow and tucked the arrow back into its quiver.

"I mean you no harm, provided you mean my clan none. You're fairly close to our camp. Did you know?"

The girl cringed. "I wasn't paying attention. I'm sorry. Which clan?"

"Lavellan."

"Oh. I think I met your Keeper once."

"Did you?"

The girl nodded.

"My name is Mitra," Lavellan said, moving in a slow circle around the girl. She could still smell blood, but couldn't see any dead animals, couldn't see any obvious wounds... but the sliver of moonlight caught the darkness, and there was blood on the melting snow, blood on the grass, blood on the girl...

"Fenedhis!" she swore, rushing forward. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine!" the girl cried, scrambling away. Her foot caught on a rock and she slipped - and Lavellan's free hand caught her by the arm, steadying her.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Lavellan said, as calmly as she could. "Are you hurt?"

The girl pulled her arm out of Lavellan's grasp and straightened. "I'm alright. Thank you. But you should go. It's not safe here."

"Obviously not, if you're covered in blood," Lavellan quipped.

"Don't worry, it's all mine," the girl said.

Lavellan stared at her for a moment, then deadpanned "That's not reassuring me."

"Oh, I-" The girl groaned. "I'm not very good at this. I'm sorry. My name's Merrill. I'm not in any danger. You should go, though. I'll be fine. Really!"

Lavellan raised an eyebrow. "Merrill. Like in the Tale of the Champion?"

"Oh, blast," Merrill said. "Varric and his silly story. Has all of Thedas read it?"

Lavellan raised the other eyebrow too. "Uh. Possibly? I stole a copy off a group of shemlen we ran off a few months back, so if we can get it out here..." She shrugged. "You're that Merrill?"

"Yes," Merrill said, nodding, looking progressively more worried by the second. "I shouldn't have said anything. I'm making a mess of things again."

"So... you're... doing blood magic?" Lavellan looked down at her hand and the smear of blood on her glove. "Is that safe?"

"Safe enough," Merrill replied. "For me, at least. You, maybe not so much. It's why I said you should go. I'm almost done with my spell."

"What spell?"

"That's really not your business," Merrill scoffed.

"Fair enough," Lavellan replied. "What you do is your own business. I'm Dalish, I'm not going to stop you doing Dalish magic."

"It's... er... not _entirely_ Dalish..." Merrill trailed off.

"Are you summoning demons?"

"No."

"Binding them, making deals with them, any of that?"

"None of that either."

"Anything whatsoever having to do with demons?"

"Nothing whatsoever."

"Will it hurt my clan?"

"No."

Lavellan sighed and slung her bow over her shoulder, causing Merrill to visibly relax. "Well, then I suppose it's really _not_ my business. But would you, uh..."

Merrill tilted her head. "Would I what?"

"Would you... tell me what the Champion's like?"

"I am DOING a SPELL!" Merrill huffed, indignant.

"Alright, alright!"

"I'm not doing anything that would hurt your clan and I'll be gone before morning so please _go_. I'm begging you, lethallan."

Lavellan looked Merrill over; saw the desperation on her face and nodded.

"I'm going. Just be a bit more careful about where you do your magic next time? If you were any closer the rest of the hunters would've noticed, and things probably wouldn't have gone as easily."

Merrill nodded. "Ma serannas."

"Dareth shiral, lethallan," Lavellan replied, and left. She only turned back once, and could've sworn it looked like Merrill was crying.

The next morning, she packed what little she could carry and headed to the conclave with a handful of fellow hunters who would escort her part of the way. She led them through the trees past where she'd seen Merrill the night before, but the girl was long gone.

All she'd left behind was the knowledge of her name, and blood on the snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aneth ara - hello  
> fenedhis - some swear word or another; pick one  
> shemlen - humans  
> lethallan - term of endearment; sort of like "clansman"  
> ma serannas - thank you  
> dareth shiral - goodbye


End file.
